Four Christmases
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: With each Christmas that follows Sherlock's death, John starts to find it easier to move on.


On his first Christmas without Sherlock, John refuses to leave the flat.

While he's well aware that this is hardly a rare occurrence of late, it seems strangely poignant on this particular day and the silence of the flat is almost crushing in its intensity. He sits in his old armchair as he usually does, aiming a cold stare at the torn remains of various invitations and a particularly sickening card from Mycroft – expressing his condolences for the umpteenth time – and he tries so desperately to tune out the cheerful party music from downstairs.

His gun is calling to him from its place in his bedside drawer once again, tempting him with the promise that simply pulling the trigger and ending it all will be so simple. It had been easy for Sherlock to leave everything behind after all. Today of all days should be a good time to leave his suffering behind and free everyone else of the burden of putting up with him, for he knows that his agony is draining to everyone he loves. That is what Sherlock's death has done to them all. The pain and guilt spreads like a plague intent on devouring everything it touches, but John seems to have gained the worst of it. Despite this knowledge, he ignores his loyal gun and sentences himself to live for yet another day. He's too cowardly to go to his best friend, it would seem.

When the skies have darkened enough for night to finally arrive and the jumbled sounds of activity from Mrs Hudson's flat finally ceases, John resigns to his bed. He's almost certain that his landlady will come knocking sooner or later to offer some form of beverage or even just a cuddle but he can't bring himself to face her. Not today.

His bed is cold and his sleep restless and he often wakes with tears streaming from tired eyes as his cruel mind once again tortures him with reminders of his late friend's rich baritone and his late-night violin recitals that John had secretly loved. All gone now.

It's a relief when Boxing Day finally arrives.

* * *

On the second Christmas, John does allow Mrs Hudson to enter the flat. She waltzes in enthusiastically with a tray housing cakes and biscuits that they both know will go uneaten and she sets about making tea for them both before John can offer to do so himself.

They sit by the hearth with their cups of tea in relative silence, each soaking up the crisp warmth of the fire on this cold night. John finds his gaze fixated on small flakes of snow that glide past the window as he sips away at tea that is quickly going cold. It's only when Mrs Hudson sets down her teacup and asks him about his new job that conversation finally has a chance to flow, and John surprises himself when he's able to open up about how much he's enjoying the role of a doctor again. It's nice to be able to take his mind off 'things', he tells her. As he speaks Mrs Hudson listens avidly, occasionally chipping in with stories about how the neighbour, Mrs Turner, has been getting on her nerves lately, and before they know it they're chatting away. It's like a protective barrier that John had put up out of necessity is finally melting away and he's grateful for it. He even manages an occasional laugh.

Sherlock isn't mentioned once.

* * *

On the third Christmas they are joined by Lestrade and Molly, and after a quick exchange of presents and greetings they finally set about catching up after so long. All are very aware that they haven't seen each other nearly as much as they'd have liked to lately, and there's a glaring elephant in the room in the form of Sherlock's absence but all is easily ignored once the drinks start flowing. Stories are exchanged, jokes with varying degrees of success are shared, and there's even a drunken performance of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' on Lestrade's part later on. John's well aware that they're all slipping into drunken territory but he really is enjoying himself, an admission that surprises even him.

He's sad to see them all go, but the quiet that greets him as he closes the door allows him to think and a slight smile forms as he acknowledges that he is finally moving on. 'About time,' he thinks with a quiet laugh before retiring to bed.

All the same, he still wishes Sherlock a small 'Merry Christmas' - wherever he may be - before slipping into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

The fourth Christmas is much calmer but John is grateful for it. For all the conflicting emotions that have plagued him for the past four months, it is now that he finally allows himself to be content. The music from Sherlock's violin dances around the otherwise quiet flat and brings joy to John's heart where there had once been pain.

John knows that Sherlock isn't entirely off the hook yet. Those long years of abandonment had been too tortuous for that. However, he's been finding lately that it's difficult to stay angry with the clever sod for too long. He's too relieved to have him back. He imagines that the small smile that plays on his lips as he listens to yet another rendition of a beautiful classical piece says more about how he truly feels than any angry outburst ever could.

Sherlock ends his playing with a slight flourish before turning to face John as if seeking approval. His gaze is as sharp and piercing as ever despite the hollowness in his cheeks that have resulted from three years on the run. His voice is softer though, with an underlying fondness reserved only for his faithful doctor.

"Merry Christmas, John."


End file.
